A Gilded Planet

Monday, May 15, 2017

Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson would have worked a whole lot better as a video game. There are countless fight sequences, chase scenes, and detailed descriptions of weapons and gear. Some of levels - ahem, settings I mean - are remarkably imaginative and would be very fun to play around in. Though many gamers don't go in for this kind of thing as much as I once did, the interactions between Hiro and the Librarian as well as some of the more colorful side characters would have entertained and inspired me quite a lot in the manner of backstory/literary/historical content heavy games such as Deus Ex and Alpha Centauri that I loved as an adolescent.

Unfortunately, Neal Stephenson made Snow Crash a novel, not a video game, although apparently his original goal was to publish it as a 'computer-generated graphic novel.' That sounds like it would have been a much more fascinating project. It also would have obviated the need for Stephenson to type up so many badly written passages. The cringe inducing dialogue would have been easier to forgive inside speech bubbles. I don't mean to be cruel here, but by the author's own admission on the 'Acknowledgements' page, he spent more time fruitlessly coding custom image processing software to produce the aborted graphic version during the production of the work than he did actually writing it. That indicates to me that his raison d'etre was something other than producing a great novel in the traditional sense.

As I said before, there are some pretty cool things in here. Some interesting ideas sluice about. It has promise. But the characters are flat and mostly lifeless. The creepily sexualized 15-year-old punk skater girl Y.T. is the worst victim of Stephenson's poor abilities at characterization. The scene in which she reaches orgasm literally in the first moment a hulking man two or three times her age sticks his dick into her is almost idiotic enough to qualify the book for a failing grade all on its own. At least have the decency to set your creepy rapey fantasies inside the Metaverse.

The plot manages to be overly convoluted and entirely simplistic at the same time. The ending in particular leaves one dissatisfied at the vague and unintentional anticlimax after all the build up of the previous 400 pages. The legitimately thrilling moment where Y.T. kicks the tablet out of the helicopter is squandered when it leads to a yet another series of overwrought chase and fight scenes.

The book strains in its attempts at humor, at profundity, at pathos, at suspense, at depth. Its potentially compelling vision for the future of endless franchise restaurants and logos as a form of light in themselves are undercut by a weird belief that soon-to-be-forgotten Reagan era figures such as Ed Meese would remain relevant enough to provide the name for trillion dollar bills and such. The inclusion of WWII and Vietnam as important events in the lives of its characters or their parents also rubbed me the wrong way - how near in the future are we supposed to believe this takes place?

My choice for sci-fi author par excellence, Phillip K. Dick, can be accused of writing bad dialogue, and of poor prose style more general. But at least his character possess enough humanity for you to actually connect with them as more than mere avatars in a boring, non-interactive video game. At least his ideas feel more original than the mishmash of undigested research that dominates too much of Snow Crash. Even when his stories are confusing, Dick's work is never as long and as pointless convoluted as this book is.

To wrap up this overlong whinge of a review - this novel is far too dull and obvious to justify its length. Perhaps it is obvious because reality has caught up with the world Stephenson imagines. But there's no excuse for it being dull - it wastes far too many fireworks for that to be intentional.

Wednesday, April 26, 2017

A few years ago I shared a list of Wikipedia pages I've created. Well, I've written a bunch more since then and so I thought I'd do a bit of an update. And I may ask myself, Robbie, what are you doing with your life? I'm just having fun with it. Here they are:

The Faraway Nearby - A book by one of my favorite authors Rebecca Solnit. In this one she combines memoir, literary criticism, travelogue in another dazzling hybrid.

The Funkees - The Funkees were an afro-rock/funk group that came out of Nigeria in the 70s, contemporaneous with Fela Kuti but with tighter songwriting.

Day Wave - Day Wave is an indie rock band. Shhh don't tell Wikipedia's schoolmarmish editors but the members of the band are close friends of mine from school days.Gabriel Joaquim dos Santos - This dude is a super cool outsider artist/architect who built a structure called The House of the Flower in Brazil.

Gaston Chaissaic - Another outsider-y artist. Since creating this article, I got to see Chaissaic's work in person at the Centre Pompidou.

Bogosav Živković - A Serbian outsider artist-carpenter. He made sculpture out of wood, and I'm obssesed with his name. His first name especially pleases my ears when I hear it and brain when I think of it.

Wes Anderson's Directing Style - Okay, so I didn't create the article on Wes Anderson, but I did add a detailed discourse on his stylistic techniques as a filmmaker.

Apocalyspe, girl - It's a really good album by Jenny Hval, that genius singer of feminist horror lullabies.

Salomo Friedlaender - A weirdo expressionist German writer of grotesques and philosophical satires who published under the pseudonym 'Mynona' which is the German word for anonymous spelled backwards.

Multiple Choice - A really good and cool novel by Chilean prankster Alejandro Zambra. It feels as much like a collection of poetry and short stories as a novel, and it is very short. And good.

As before, I often publish only the seeds of a good Wikipedia article, and when the planets align other editors help it bloom into a real article much to my delight. In general, I've been trying to improve Wikipedia's coverage of outsider artists, as well as obscure, forgotten, neglected, abandoned, forsaken, unrecognized, unacknowledged, overshadowed, out-of-fashion authors, playwrights, filmmakers, performers, and artists of all kinds.

Friday, May 6, 2016

Chris Evan is perfect for the role of Captain America because just like Captain America, Chris Evan is an utterly boring shell. He's a hollow white male mascot with nothing to say. Therefore he's a perfect avatar to represent diversity in Hollywood circa 2016.

Sam Worthington

Speaking of avatar, Sam Worthington starred in Avatar. The highest-grossing movie of all time. Everyone saw Avatar, right? I will remind you, Avatar (apparently) starred Sam Worthington, at least if we're going to believe IMDb.com. How would you describe Sam Worthinton? Can you remember anything about him? Anything at all?

Well, here's one thing I can say about Sam Worthinston. By virtue of his being a total non-entity, Sam Worthington is the only actor capable of making Giovanni Ribisi believable as a dynamic, menacing villain. Giovanni Ribisi. From Friends.

Aaron Taylor-Johnson

The new Godzilla movie was going to be great until Bryan Cranston died 15 minutes into it and we were stuck watching watching this charmless block of wood for the rest of the movie.

Charlie Hunnam

No one gives a shit about Charlie Hunnam.

Garrett Hedlund

Man oh man, Garrett Hedlund, what did we do to deserve you? White men make up less than a third of the U.S. population and Hollywood makes its blockbusters for the rest of the world anyway. So what then explains Garrett Headlands?

Armie Hammer

The most interesting thing about Armie Hammer is his name.

Chris Hemsworth (Huntsman)

As Thor, Chris Hemsworth is the only member of The Avengers more stilted than Chris Evans. They should really kick out the Hulk, Iron Man, Arrow Man, and Black Dahlia and then rename their team The League of the Ordinary Chris's. Then they should disband and kill themselves.

Hemsworth also stars in another 'franchise' called Huntsman. Huntsman movies are not about former Utah Governor Jon Huntsman, though that would likely be more interesting than what they are about. Huntsman is a made up white male lead added to the Snow White fairy tale for no reason at all except as an excuse to cast another bland white man to star a fantasy action movie that no one will ever care about or remember.Snow White and the Huntsman came out a few years ago. This spring, a sequel appeared entitled Huntsman: Winter's War. That's right, Hollywood made a sequel to Snow White without Snow White because I guess these days there are too many movies coming out starring women. Instead the movie stars Chris Hemsworth as Huntsman. Huntsman, who fought in Winter's War and ran for the Republican nomination for president in 2012 but lost to Mitt Romney.

Liam Hemsworth

Oh God, Huntsman has a brother. Holy Jesus. And he's starring in the new Independence Day movie, replacing Will Smith. Will the reign of terror of bland white men starring in every blockbuster never end?

Josh Hutcherson

This guy isn't even real. I made him up. He stars as, as...uh, let's say his character's name is Peeta...yeah, Peeta. Peeta Mellark. He's in a series of movies about, fuck it, how about the movie's just kids killing other kids. And these movies, starring Josh...Hutcherson? Is that what we're calling him? Yeah, Josh Hutcherson as a kid named Peeta. These movies have grossed nearly $3 billion at the box office. Yep. Peeta Mellark.

Josh Hartnett

You ever wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and your heart's racing and all you can think is WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO JOSH HARTNETT? As the patron saint of bland white male movie stars, we can only hope they all go his way: languishing in obscurity before turning 40.

Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Little Marco sat across the desk from the man who looked likely to end his political career that evening. Big Trump appeared casual but confident, barrel-chested with strong-looking rounded shoulders that rested easily on the luxuriously appointed leather swivel chair.

"Don't worry about it, Little Marco...it'll all be over soon. I've beat you so many times it's gonna be a relief to you now that you're finished, believe me. Once you endorse we'll figure out how you're gonna serve in my administration, since you can't go back to Florida after I embarrass you in front of everyone there. Maybe you can be my FEMA Administrator...wait, you're too much of a choker for that, aren't you -"

"I'm not a choker! And stop calling me Little Marco!"

How Little Marco hated his debased desire for Big Trump's embrace! He looked down, averting his eyes from the enormous desk carved of rich mahogany, the classy gold pens and sharpies held up in those little holder things littered across that same desk, the various gold encrusted trophies and plaques scattered about the office suite, the golden-hued tapestries hanging from the walls, the tremendously-sized windows that overlooked the glittering Manhattan skyline, and all the other goldish fineries that bedecked the Trump Tower penthouse, serving on this blackest of nights as Little Marco's very own Rubicon.

When Little Marco opened his eyes again, he felt hot tears run down his cheeks. Through the tears, he saw fingers drumming on Big Trump's desk. He knew who they belonged to. Many people said Big Trump's fingers were very short and sausage-like, and even little Marco believed them at first. He felt even more sullen as he thought back to the day he had impugned Big Trump's hands. They didn't seem so small now.

“They don't seem so small now, do they?” Trump was holding up his hands in Little Marco's face. "Come here, Little Marco." Trump beckoned him forward, and then patted his right leg. Their eyes locked with an intensity Little Marco was only beginning to understand. Yes, Donald…claim me…

All he wanted was to rush over onto the bigger man's lap and begin to lap, but he resisted and turned away in anguish. His voice squeaked, “Let's dispel once and for all with this fiction that I'm going to endorse you just because -”

But Trump was on him before he could finish the sentence he had practiced over and over again in the mirror, the sentence that would firmly reject Trump's entreaties for his endorsement, the sentence that was useless now since Trump hadn't even asked, he had taken, like always - and the only thing firmly rejected were Little Marco's clothes, which were firmly rejected off his body and onto the floor. Trump fell upon him like a savage, bent him over the desk and thrust into him with a rigid and corpulent coil of elderly loins, and in the pleasure Little Marco took from Trump's lust, his body became an extension of Trump's tremendous success in the GOP primaries—proof of his worthiness to be the next President of the United States, in Little Marco's eyes, at least.

A river of sweat and spittle dribbled down Little Marco's back and gathered at the base of his spine. Between spanks, yanks, and bleats, flecks of spit flew out the sides of Big Trump's mouth. Each bit of spittle that hit Little Marco on his back, legs, forehead, chin, and ear lobes only hardened his resolve. And by resolve, I mean erection. Little Marco's endorsement was forthcoming momentarily. He would endorse all over the rich mahogany desk, just before Trump made America great again deep inside Little Marco's body cavity.

Little Marco collapsed onto the now-slippery desk in ecstasy. Trump pulled his pants back up and began to stagger around the room raving to himself and anyone within earshot."What a tremendous blow for conservatism! That was a tremendous blow, frankly, for our country! Nobody pounds Little Marco better than me, believe me, and I pounded him for very cheap. We made the best deals. And how you do it, let me tell you, is good management..." Trump continued speaking in this manner without interruption for the next seventy minutes, though eventually he left the office suite and finished his peroration in front of a bank of cameras and slack-jawed supporters.

Curled up in a trembling, clammy ball on the desk, Little Marco thought of all the older men he had shoved out of the way on his way to this ignoble night. Charlie Crist. Jeb Bush. He wondered where they were now, and whether Trump had already ruptured their anuses too. He quivered, and his teeth began to chatter. Then, through slimy, feverish, lips, Little Marco whimpered: "The horror...the horror..."

Wednesday, February 3, 2016

As Bernie Sanders has Hillary Clinton have become opponents, their residents have begun attacking each other. And things have gotten ugly. I can't believe when you combine politics and the internet that the results are anything less than civil, cordial and polite!

For many of us, it's not simply politics as usual. There's never been a major party nomination fight between a female candidate and a male candidate who also would be a historical first if he were elected president. Except for last time.

For me, the backlash against Hillary Clinton feels very, very personal. Because she's my bae. Wait, I mean my abuela. Wait, what should I call her to make this go viral?

Can you for a moment think of how difficult it is to be HIP, but above the need to be seen as COOL? Especially when the most well-known sketch comedy show in the history of the United States will only write and perform a few sketcheseach time you run for president dramatizing your grievances and how difficult it is to be the frontrunner of a major political party's nomination contest.

Can you empathize a little with how everything she says has to be perfect because she'd be crucified otherwise (she's already being crucified that's why I'm writing this but she'd be double crucified if she said something imperfect she never does though), meanwhile Bernie Sanders can say pretty much anything he wants and all that happens is he is almost completely frozen out from being endorsed by any prominent elected official or elite-run progressive organization?

I'm so infuriated on her behalf. Because what you like about Bernie (you dumb stupid browho is very very misogynist indeed), what they (teh racizts) like about Trump, she doesn't get to do that. She doesn't get to be all wild hair and yelling. Do I wish different? Of course. I wish I could be all wild hair and yelling. I wish we could all be all wild hair and yelling. And the first female president would go a long way toward making that difference possible. The difference of Wild Hair and Yelling.

FIRST AND EFFING FOREMOST, COOL, YOU LIKE BERNIE'S HOPEY CHANGEY APPROACH TO POLITICS. "FREE COLLEGE FOR EVERYONE AND A GODDAMN PONY." YES, THAT SOUNDS FUCKING WONDERFUL BUT DO YOU THINK HILLARY COULD EVEN SAY THOSE WORDS WITHOUT FOX NEWS LITERALLY (NOT FIGURATIVELY) BURYING HER ALIVE IN TAMPONS AND CRUCIFIXES? TAMPONS B/C SHE A LADY AND CRUCIFIXES B/C SHE A MARTYR. SHE OUR LADY MARTYR. OUR MULTIMILLIONAIRE LADY MARTYR.

YEAH, THAT'S RIGHT, SHE DEFINITELY WOULD SUPPORT BERNIE'S FREE COLLEGE FOR ALL PLAN IF SHE COULD. HER OPPOSITION HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE FACT THAT BERNIE'S COLLEGE FOR ALL PLAN WOULD BE PAID FOR BY A TAX ON WALL STREET SPECULATION. HILLARY WISHES SHE COULD SUPPORT A TAX ON WALL STREET BUT SHE CAN'T BECAUSE FOX NEWS IS MEAN. SHE SUPPORTS A MUCH WEAKER VERSION OF THE SAME TAX, AGAIN - BECAUSE FOX NEWS.

YOU DON'T LIKE THAT SHE PLAYS THE GAME? THAT SHE HAS TIES TO IS THE ESTABLISHMENT? FOR ONE THING, THAT'S HOW SHIT FUCKING GETS DONE. FOR THE OTHER THING, THE BIGGEST THING, A WOMAN DOESN'T GET THE FUCKING OPTION *NOT* TO PLAY THE GAME. HER ONLY OPTION AFTER BEING SECRETARY OF STATE WAS TO COLLECT SIX FIGURE SPEAKING FEES FROM WALL STREET. SHE COULD NOT HAVE DONE ANYTHING ELSE. THAT WAS HER ONLY OPTION. BECAUSE SHE IS A WOMAN. SHE HAD TO MAKE LOTS AND LOTS OF MONEY FOR HERSELF.THAT'S HOW SHIT FUCKING GETS DONE. NO OTHER OPTION. WOMAN. CHOICE. PRO-CHOICE. PRO THE CHOICE TO PERSONALLY ENRICH YOURSELF.

AND THESE NEW BERNIE VS. HILLARY MEMES. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN DOING?

OH WAIT, THOSE ARE THE OLD HILLARY MEMES. SORRY, WE REALLY LIKE THOSE. THEY ARE FUN. YOU SHOULD SHARE THEM ON ALL YOUR SOCIAL NETWORKS. WE TRAIL BY 70 POINTS AMONG MILLENNIALS. WE REALLY NEED TO FIGURE OUT THIS MEME THING. AHEM, SORRY, I DO NOT WORK FOR HILLARY. I AM VERY GRASSROOT.

AND IF YOU COME AT ME ALL BRO-LIKE BECAUSE YOU ARE BRO OBVI WITH A "YOU JUST LIKE HER BECAUSE SHE'S A WOMAN" I WILL SET MYSELF ON FIRE. I LIKE HER! I LIKE HER POLICIES THOUGH I CANNOT BRING MYSELF TO TELL YOU ABOUT ANY OF THEM HERE BECAUSE THIS IS ABOUT FEELINGS ONLY, I LIKE HER PLANS WHICH ARE DIFFERENT THAN HER POLICIES BUT AGAIN I CAN'T RECALL ANY OF THEM AT THE MOMENT, I LIKE WHAT SHE STANDS FOR WHICH I HAVE NOT EXPLAINED AND WON'T EXPLAIN BECAUSE WHAT SHE STANDS FOR IS OBVIOUS AND IS NOT CONSTANTLYCHANGINGBASED ONWHATPOLLSWELL OR SEEMS EXPEDIENT OR EASY TO DEFEND IN THE MOMENT.

I'M SICK OF HAVING TO APOLOGIZE FOR LIKING HER, FOR HAVING TO QUALIFY AND SEE YOUR SIDE AND RESPECT YOUR OPINION WHEN I FUCKING DON'T. FUCK THE IRAQIS I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO QUALIFY MY FEELINGS ABOUT A MULTIMILLIONAIRE CELEBRITY JUST BECAUSE SHE VOTED TO INVADE A COUNTRY FOR NO REAL REASON OTHER THAN POLITICAL EXPEDIENCY, CAUSING 100S OF THOUSANDS OF INNOCENT PEOPLE TO DIE, AGAIN SHE WAS AFRAID OF WHAT VOTING THE OTHER WAY MIGHT MEAN FOR HER REELECTION. REMEMBER THAT SHE'S A WOMAN SO THAT'S A COMPLETELY DEFENSIBLE REASON TO VOTE FOR WAR, EVEN THE DUMBEST WAR IN HISTORY.

AND MOST OF YOU LIKE HER POLICIES AND PLANS TOO BECAUSE A) THEY'RE BASICALLY FUCKING THE SAME AS OBAMA AND HIS POLICIES AND PLANS ARE GREAT AND FIXED EVERYTHING AND WEREN'T COMPROMISED AT ALL BY BEING TOO ESTABLISHMENT-FRIENDLY B) THEY'RE NOT THAT FUCKING DIFFERENT THAN FUCKING BERNIE THOUGH I CANNOT BE BOTHERED TO ELABORATE ON THIS POINT BECAUSE THIS IS ABOUT MY FEELINGS AND NOT ABOUT THE AGENDAS OF THE TWO CANDIDATES I AM SAD THAT LADY MARTYR MIGHT BLOW HER CHANCE YET AGAIN

SO, YES, I'M EMOTIONAL AND I'M YELLING. BECAUSE THIS IS FUCKING EMOTIONAL FOR ME. I WANT A FEMALE PRESIDENT AND FOR SOME REASON WANT THAT FIRST FEMALE PRESIDENT TO BE THE WIFE OF A FORMER PRESIDENT. I WANT THE FIRST FEMALE PRESIDENT TO BE SOMEONE WITH ALMOST NO PRINCIPLES OR CORE VALUES TO SPEAK OF OTHER THAN WHATEVER ADVANCES HER INTERESTS AT THE MOMENT. I WANT HILLARY CLINTON. YAAAS HILLARY!!!

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

My name is Nicholas Obama. I am the illegitimate son of the illegitimate president of these United States. I have long remained hidden under the witness protection program using the false name Robert Bruens (or 'Robbie' to my friends). But after my father gave what he claims is his final State of the Union address, I felt I could hide no longer. So here I am, Nicholas Obama, here to tell you my story for the first time.

Me me, I'm Nicholas Obama

You will notice I used the word illegitimate twice in a rather inflammatory way. I will explain. I am an illegitimate boy because Barack Obama (or as I call him, Obummer) fathered me outside of the holy compact of marriage. My mother is not Michelle Obama. My biological mother is Harriet Albania, a former child prostitute from South Africa. She is presently an antigovernment dissident living in Venezuela. I haven't spoke to her in months.

Barack Obama aka 'Obummer' aka 'Ali Jamal Hassan' as he is known to the others on the Majestic Council of the 12 Clerics

And my father is an illegitimate president for obvious reasons. He wasn't born in the United States, as the eminent businessman Donald Trump has repeatedly proven. Nor has he ever even visited the United States. Many people don't realize that Obummer currently rules the greatest nation the earth has ever seen (the U.S., natch) from a Potemkin capital in Nairobi. His government-in-exile has moved around some, with brief stints in Cairo, Dubai, Addis Ababa, East Timor, and elsewhere. But this matters little now. If he relinquishes power a year from now as he claims, we will hear no more of his regime and can turn our backs completely on this shameful and dark period of our generally glorious history.

I was born in Johannesburg. In the late 1980s, my father (an admitted cokehead) used to cruise around that city looking for cheap thrills. On one of his many menacing nights of debauchery, he met my mother in a sordid brothel known then as "The Devil's Lumberyard." Harriet told me that Obummer used to describe her as "hotter than the hottest tamale I ever did ate." I find this hard to imagine as her face was badly damaged in a horrible fire that killed the family dog when I was 7.

My biological mother, Harriet Albania, after her accident. She still finished her degree, as she is a proud woman.

Though Obummer used his significant financial backing from the Bin Laden family and others to pay for me to be adopted by two lovely American adult persons in California (I think of them as my parents even if they didn't sire me themselves), and also to buy many years of silence beyond that, I have decided to speak up in the hopes that my story might be used to finally dislodge him from his grip on power. It may be too late, as he has used the office of the president to set up all that he needs when he leaves office to establish a new Islamic caliphate that stretches from East Africa to Southeast Asia. I hope not. I don't want to see another war with the Muslims. But if that's what they want, that's what they will get.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

George Lucas has done it again. He fooled me once, shame on him. He fooled me twice, shame on him. He fooled me three times, shaame on him. He fooled me a fourth time and now I'm starting to think I'm the one that should be ashamed, like I did something wrong. But really, I did nothing wrong. I just bought a ticket to see the new Star War movie. It's not my fault the movie was just as bad as if not worse than the prequels. And let me tell you why.

First of all, I don't know how the idea of doing Star War at Christmastimes got past the drawing board. These movie executives are supposed to be smart guys, so I don't know what they were thinking. I've always felt Star War is supposed to be a summer thing like going to the beach. So having the first scene of the new movie be a Christmas Tree lighting ceremony on Tatooine where it doesn't even snow just seemed like the opposite of what you'd want to do to open the first Star War to come out in a decade.

Secondly, I love Han Solo. Han Solo is my favorite character in all of Star War. But making him the lead in this movie was a huge mistake. Because now that Harrison Ford is elderly and confined to a wheelchair, he just isn't in any condition to anchor an action adventure story in my opinion. Whenever Chewbacca had to push Han Solo really fast to get away from the stormtroopers, it really strained my ability to suspend disbelief and be whisked about in a galaxy far, far away. I also felt that the newer younger characters looked pretty disgusted and sometimes disturbed whenever Han took out his dentures in the middle of a conversation.

I never wanted to see Han Solo like this.

Speaking of bad casting, George Lucas should definitely not have cast himself in the movie. He has never appeared in front of the camera in Star War before, and I think it was a big mistake to break that convention now. I know he wants to be remembered by future generations, but I didn't understand why the scenes he appeared in had to be in the movie. They seemed more like home movies, because most of his scenes were just shaky camcorder footage of Lucas wandering around his mansion in the dark mumbling about Ewoks and Gungans and things. Though I did enjoy the scene at the end where George Lucas and a woman I didn't recognize waited in line at a theme park to get on a Star War ride. That reminded me that I need to go back to Disneyland soon to check out the new Star War Land they have there now.

George Lucas in Star War Land

I should also warn you that this new Star War movie included a lot of offensive material, and I'm not easily offended. Giving the villainous Snoke an oversized nose and a yarmulke suggested to me that Lucas wants us to think one thing: Jewish. I think other members of the creative team tried to cover up Lucas' racist caricature by making Snoke look like Voldemort. Also his name reminded me of Snape, another character from Harry Potter. But these choices just served to muddle things further without really hiding the fact that Snoke is basically an offensive and old fashioned Jewish stereotype. I thought those had been consigned to the dust bin of history, but leave it to that wily bigot GL to bring such trash back into fashion.

This is apparently not an image of Snoke. Main difference: no yarmluke.

Star War has gotten a lot of flak over the years for lacking diversity. It's true that the series hasn't had many very memorable black characters (though when people forget about Captain Panaka I always take them outside and show them what it's like). But I think this new movie was overcompensating by putting an interracial relationship at the center of the whole story. It's the 21st Century guys, you're not getting credit for that anymore. Make it about a human and alien both of the same gender, and then maybe we're talking.

Okay, this is a minor quibble, but Admiral Ackbar's role in the movie was not nearly as significant as I was expecting given that he was easily the coolest new character to be introduced in Return of the Jedi, and this Star War movie was supposedly a sequel to Return of the Jedi. But I guess when you introduce a character that cool you always raise expectations for what he (or she!) will do in the next entry of the series. This same thing happened with Boba Fett too. It's a trap, I guess.

Aw, yeeeeah.

By far my biggest problem with the movie was the sense that the whole thing was coasting on my nostalgia and deepest affection for the original Star War movies. Every movie nowadays seems to be targeting me on the basis of me remembering something I liked from my childhood. But I never would have liked the original Star War movies if they had starred Harrison Old (sorry, that's a cheap shot I know) as a character who you know is going to die in the end because he's geriatic and needs to be put out of his misery. There's no dramatic tension in Han Solo being cut down by a lightsaber when he's moaning and grumbling throughout the whole movie about how painful it is to still be alive when you're 92 years old.

I don't know, maybe the movie just wasn't for me. I know a lot of big blockbuster movies these days are intended for the growing Chinese moviegoing audience. Perhaps I missed out on some context for what the filmmakers were trying to accomplish because I've never even been to China. I know what you're thinking, what have you been waiting for? And the answer is that I haven't been waiting, it's just very expensive to fly to China. I've been meaning to do it ever since I saw Iron Man 3, and I promise to get to it before I write another movie review.